


I Forget My Name

by Bakingblues



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:47:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28215717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bakingblues/pseuds/Bakingblues
Summary: "We’re here for the party.”“What party?”“The Christmas party.”“Whose Christmas party?”Behind him Dele can hear Winksy starting to giggle nervously. He not so subtly stamps on his foot.“Look,” Dele starts and then stops. He has no idea whose party they are crashing.
Relationships: Dele Alli/Eric Dier
Comments: 13
Kudos: 34
Collections: Deledier Fic Exchange 2020





	I Forget My Name

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cefhclwords](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cefhclwords/gifts).



> This is for Cefhclwords, who asked for a fic where Dele and his friends try to gate crash a company's work Christmas party only to require the help of a handsome blonde stranger to be let in, not realising said stranger is the company CEO. Thank you for such a fun prompt Cefhclwords! I hope you enjoy this <3 
> 
> This is un-betad so all terrible grammatical errors are mine alone, for which I can only apologise.

“Hey Del,” Sonny’s head pops around the fire exit and smiles apologetically.

“‘Sup Sonny,” Dele says, draining his shit staffroom coffee and throwing the cup at the bin across the alleyway. It lands squarely in it and Dele cheers under his breath and accepts Sonny’s high-five.

“You better watch out,” Sonny says as Dele follows him back inside. “JM is on the warpath.”

“For fucks sake,” Dele mutters.”What now?”

“Yeah, Winksy heard him talking to Joao in the staffroom on his break. Joao was complaining about having to reshelf the beans as they’d not been stacked properly in date order.

“Joao is such a fucking sneak,” Dele complains. 

“God tell me about it,” Sonny says smiling. Dele wonders if Sonny ever stops smiling. He suspects not. “Anyway, _I_ just saw JM leaving Levy’s office looking smug. He asked me where you are.”

“So you’ve come to find me to take me to JM?” Dele asks, betrayed.

“Course not you dummy,” Sonny says. “I’ve come to warn you so you can hide from him.” 

“Thanks mate,” Dele says sighing. “I’ll go and make myself busy in the storeroom. Tell him you can’t find me?”

“You got it!” Sonny says, fist bumping Dele. “Still on for tonight?” 

“Of course,” Dele says grinning. “Make sure Winksy doesn’t flake.” 

“We’ll meet you out back at 4.30pm,” Sonny replies, flashes Dele another blinding smile and goes back out onto the shop floor. Dele sighs and heads to the store room to annoy Christian and hide from JM. God he hates this job. 

~

“I just really fucking hate my job,” Dele sighs dramatically, taking a pint from Winksy and nodding in thanks. 

Winksy slides into the booth next to Sonny, and raises his glass to cheers. Sonny responds enthusiastically and Dele flops forwards onto the table. He instantly regrets his decision at the discovery that the tables in Wetherspoons are stickier than the floor. He makes this discovery everytime they come here - he never learns.

“I know,” Winksy says, stroking Dele’s head in an oddly soothing manner. “It’ll be okay, you have like a million job interviews lined up.” 

“Yeah!” Sonny agrees, and then “Excuse me!” as he crawls over Winksy’s lap, waving enthusiastically at someone he’s recognised at the bar. Dele peels his face off the table and watches him go.

“How is he always so happy?” He asks morosely. Winksy makes soothing tutting sounds and pats Dele’s hand. Dele is beginning to feel like a cat.

“Stop petting me,” he says frowning. Winksy pouts and pokes Dele’s cheek. 

“Not until you stop sulking.” 

“It’s alright for you, you’re only stuck stacking shelves until you pass your degree. Then you’ll be off being a big shot massaging men’s legs for money. Fuck off I hate you.”

“That’s not exactly what sports therapists do,” Winksy says taking a sip of his beer pointedly. 

“Well, remember me when you’re sports therapy-ing for Spurs and I’m being rota’d onto the night shift _again_ because JM hates me for no reason. I miss Poch.”

“We all miss Poch!” Sonny says, reappearing from nowhere and clambering over Dele to reach his beer. 

“Poch would never have rota’d us all to work the shift of the Christmas party,” Winksy says sadly. 

“To Poch,” Sonny says, a rare sombre expression on his face, and holds up his glass.

“He’s not dead for fucks sake,” Dele mutters, but toasts his old boss anyway. 

~ 

“What time did you tell Ben we’d arrive?” Winksy asks, his hands shoved into his coat pocket as he braces himself against the biting winter wind. Dele side-steps to avoid walking into a bin, and tightens his scarf around his neck.

“He’s on shift until 10.00pm,” he replies. 

“It’s so cool you have a friend who works at The Ned!” Sonny says, his open coat flapping behind him. Winksy tries in vain to zip it up for him as they navigate their way down Princes Street, muttering under his breath about catching a chill.

“Hm,” Dele hums non committedly. The thing is, he isn’t _really_ sure he can call Ben a friend. More someone he had hit on one night out a few months ago much to, it turns out, the embarrassment of both Dele and Ben and to the endless amusement of Harry. Dele knows better than to try and pull when he’s out with his brother. Again, he never learns. The thing is he hadn’t even planned on pulling that night. But Ben had nice eyes and he supported Spurs and well, Dele had been happily pissed and thought yeah why not. Ben, ears flushed pink, had stuttered an apology, mentioned his girlfriend and then to cover both their embarrassments suggested they watch a game together one weekend and they’d exchanged numbers. They’d never actually watched a game together, but occasionally messaged after a Spurs win and that is how Ben had found out Dele would be working during Spurs next Champions League game:

_its also are work xmas party but my boss hates me :(_

**_thats lame. Ill keep u updated on the score_ **

_thx_

**_there are always work christmas parties at the hotel why dont u come one evening and ill sneak u in_ **

_solid! Can i bring a mate_

**_sure :)_ **

~

And so that is how on a cold Friday evening in mid-December Dele finds himself walking in through the automatic doors of the fanciest hotel he’s ever stepped foot in with his two bickering friends in tow, only to be confronted by a man on the front desk who was definitely _not_ Ben.

“You’re not Ben,” he says, gaping at the grumpy looking man.

“Correct,” the man says. Behind him Sonny and Winksy stumble to a stop.

“Where’s Ben?” Dele asks, pulling his phone out from his pocket.

“None of your business. Can I help? Do you have a reservation?”

“Yeah. We’re here for the party.”

“What party?”

“The Christmas party.” 

“Whose Christmas party?” 

Behind him Dele can hear Winksy starting to giggle nervously. He not so subtly stamps on his foot. 

“Look,” Dele starts and then stops. He has no idea whose party they are crashing. 

“Sir I’m going to have to ask you and your friends to leave,” the grumpy man behind the desk says. 

“It’s cool, we’ll wait for Ben,” Dele replies. 

“Sir that will not be possible.” 

Winksy starts tugging on Dele’s sleeve who shrugs him off.

“You can’t throw us out,” Dele challenges, absolutely sure that this grumpy man can in fact do just that.

The man’s face turns if possible even grumpier. He looks over at the scary looking security guard stationed at the entrance and is about to say something when the lift at the end of the reception area opens. A man wearing a suit and carrying a half-finished beer and a badly wrapped present walks out. Automatically Dele checks him out. He’s tall, with blonde, closely cropped hair and soft, handsome features. 

He stops when he notices Dele and his friends. 

“Is everything okay Mr Casillas?” he asks the grumpy man in a slow, monotone drawl. 

“Yes sir. These young men were trying to gain entrance to the party, but they have no company ID. I was just about to have them escorted out.” 

The man looks over at them. Behind him Dele knows Winsky will be trying not to cry and Sonny will be smiling widely, a blinding ray of sunshine. The man’s eyes catch Dele’s, and oh, they definitely linger. Dele cocks his hip slightly, and a teasing smirk pulls at his mouth. 

“That’s okay Mr Casillas,” the man says, his eyes not leaving Dele’s. “They’re with me.”

The grumpy man - Mr Casillas - scowls. “As you wish sir,” he mumbles. “Would your _friends_ like to leave their coats and bags in the cloakroom?” 

“I’m sure they would,” the tall man says. “Gets yourselves sorted and I’ll see you at the party. Just through the double doors at the end of the corridor.” He smiles and salutes his beer at Dele, thanks the grumpy receptionist and leaves. 

Dele grins happily.

~

_what the hell man?_

**_mate I am so sorry someone got locked out there room and iker made me go deal with it. did u get thrown out?_ **

_nah lol we’re in. some man rescued us._

**_wait. what man?_ **

_dunno. tall, talks a bit weirdly, short blonde hair, pretty fit tbh_

**_lol del thats the company ceo_ **

_lol nice_.

~

“God I totally thought we were busted back there,” Winksy says, talking a mile a minute the way he does when he’s nervous or excited. “That man was so miserable, I really thought he was gonna throw us out or call the police or get that security man to punch us.” 

Dele rolls his eyes as he surveys the room. The party is typical of most company Christmas parties. Terrible festive music blares from the speakers and a table pushed to the side of the room holds an array of unappealing looking canapes. Hotel staff meander slowly around the room with trays of warm champagne and a crowd of people hover by the bar. On another table in the far corner sits a pile of presents, and Dele sees their rescuer deposit his own gift before getting pulled into a conversation with a man wearing a festive jumper and, inexplicably, a pair of shorts. 

“Chill out Winksy,” Dele says, “no one was getting punched.”

“What is this company anyway?” Sonny asks, taking a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and thanking him enthusiastically.

“Dunno,” Dele says. “But Ben says that man who let us in is the CEO.”

“He looks young to be a CEO,” Sonny muses, before waving at someone across the room. “Look at that man’s jumper! I’m going to be his friend.” 

“Does Sonny get on with everyone?” Winksy asks as they watch him weave his way through the crowd before launching himself onto the man wearing the Christmas jumper and shorts.

“Fuck knows,” Dele replies. “I’m getting a beer.” 

~

He’s nursing his third beer and wondering if he should rescue Winksy who is being chatted up by a pretty girl and looking quite frankly terrified about it, when their rescuer sidles up next to him holding two glasses of champagne. 

“Hey,” he smiles in greeting, offering Dele a glass. Dele downs his beer, places the bottle on the bar and takes the offered glass. “Are you having a good time?” 

Dele grins. “Not bad, thanks.”

“So why are you gate crashing my company's Christmas party?” the man asks, his eyes crinkling in amusement. “I’m Eric by the way.” 

“Dele,” he says in reply. “And we’re not gate crashing. It’s not gate crashing when the CEO invites you in.”

Eric laughs, loud and warm, and angles his body towards Dele. 

“You’ve got me there.” He replies, smiling.

“Thanks though,” Dele says. “You didn’t have to.”

“I know I didn’t,” Eric says. “I could have got that scary looking security guard to throw you out.” 

“Why did you then?” Dele counters. 

“Why don’t you tell me why you’re here first.” Eric asks, taking a sip of his champagne. 

“We wanted to come to a Christmas party.” 

“And you couldn’t go to one with your own company?”

“We could. Except my boss is a dick and is making us work on the night of the party.”

“Hmmm. He does sound like a terrible boss, expecting his employees work.” Eric teases lightly. 

“He’s such a tosser,” Dele says angrily, taking a sip of his champagne. “He’s Porteguese and like a million years old and loads of the cashiers fancy him which is just dumb as he’s a total twat.”

“I’m Portuguese,” Eric says mildly. Dele squints at him suspiciously. 

“Fuck off,” he says. “You’re proper English.” 

Eric shrugs. “I grew up in Portugal.” 

“That doesn’t make you Porteguese,” Dele replies accusingly. “That just makes you someone who lived in Portugal for a while.” 

“I dunno. I often feel more European than English.” 

Dele wants to say something about how being English is still being European, but as much as Winksy tries to keep him up to date with Brexit he isn’t really sure, and decides not to risk it. He finds himself inexplicably wanting to impress this man. 

“Say something to me in Porteguese then,” he says instead. 

“Que bom que você invadiu a festa.”

“That's hot,” Dele says, without thinking. God, this champagne has gone to his head. He isn’t normally _quite_ this shameless despite what Harry says. 

Eric smirks at him, taking a long sip from his glass. Dele feels his mouth go dry as he watches the movement of Eric’s throat. _Fuck_. 

“So,” Dele says, not breaking eye contact. “Why did you let us in?” 

Eric doesn’t say anything for a beat, then two. Just as he opens his mouth to reply a shout from the other side of the room diverts their attention. Dele jumps back and they both turn and look at the source of the mayhem.

“Fuck that’s my mate Sonny,” Dele mutters.

At the same time Eric says dismissively, “Oh it’s only Hugo.” 

“Who is Hugo?” Dele asks, looking at the man in the festive jumper and shorts who is gesticulating angrily at Sonny. Sonny is looking uncharacteristically furious - he knows he should go and intervene but he doesn’t want to leave Eric’s side. 

“He’s our in-house lawyer,” Eric remarks.

“Shouldn’t we uh, do something?” Dele asks. 

“Nah, it’s just Hugo.” Eric says as if that explains anything. Dele see’s Winksy extricate himself from the attention of the flirty woman and jog over to Sonny, pulling him away from Hugo.

“Right,” Dele says, grateful he isn't needed and turns back to Eric purposefully. He presses his arm against Eric’s and smirks. “Where were we?” 

Eric leans in closer and Dele can feel his breath ghost his cheek. “I was about to tell you why I let you into my party -” he starts when:

“Oi, boss! Time for the speeches!” A tall man with a confusing amount of hair gel shouts over. 

“For fucks sake,” Eric whispers before straightening up and moving away, shooting Dele an apologetic look.

“Coming Toby,” he replies and makes his way to the head of the room. 

~

“What the fuck was that all about?” Dele asks Sonny, who he’s dragged out onto the balcony for some fresh air and to avoid the exceptionally boring speeches. They’d lost Winksy on the way.

“What?” Sonny asks happily, sipping on a luridly orange cocktail.

“You and that Hugo?”

“Oh you know Hugo!” Sonny says excitedly. “Isn’t he fun?”

“About 10 minutes ago you looked like you wanted to murder him.”

“Oh that,” Sonny dismisses. “That is old news. He had some terrible opinions about Christmas films. I told him he obviously had no concept of artistic integrity and that Home Alone 2 is clearly the superior film and Love Actually is overrated with terrible roll necks and horrible hats. He soon saw I was correct and anyway we’re friends again now.” 

“Right,” Dele says, not really listening. “Hey look, I reckon I’m in there with that CEO guy. You and Winksy okay to make it home without me?”

“Yeah! Nice one Del!” Sonny says, reaching to high-five Dele, forgetting he has a cocktail in his hand. 

“Oh no!” Sonny cries, looking at his now empty glass aghast. “This is so sad!” 

Dele chuckles. “Come on mate, let's go find you another one.” 

~

“Have you been hiding from me?” A slow voice drawls in Dele’s ear. Dele grins around his cocktail straw and slowly turns to face Eric. He’s standing close, a drunken flush across his cheeks, grinning lazily at Dele. He’s _so_ fit Dele thinks giddily. 

“I would never hide from you,” he says, looking up in what he hopes is a seductive way.

Eric laughs and shakes his head. Dele pouts and wraps his lips around the straw again, watching Eric drop his gaze. Dele pulls his mouth off with a pop - Eric’s eyes darken and he looks up. 

“So _boss_ ,” Dele asks, his voice low. “Are you going to take me home or what.” 

Eric clears his throat and straightens up, looking beyond Dele to the emptying room. Most of the party had cleared out over the past hour, but a few remain - slumped across the bar or across each other in the middle of the dance floor. Apparently satisfied with what he sees, Eric looks back to Dele.

“Yeah,” he says. “I am.”

 _Score,_ Dele thinks and quickly finishes his drink. 

~

Eric orders an Uber and opens the door of the Toyota when it pulls up outside the hotel. Dele scrambles in, Eric following behind him. The moment the door closes Dele places his hand high on Eric’s thigh, feeling bold and daring and quite a lot drunk. Eric sucks in a breath.

“Dele,” he starts. Dele just moves his hand higher, feeling the heat radiating off Eric. He looks over and Eric is staring straight ahead. It’s too dark in the Uber to see if he’s flushed, but suddenly all Dele wants to know is if he is. He wants to bite his throat, he wants to know if he’s hard. _Fuck_ he really is drunk. He doesn’t care. He adjusts his position, and leans over. Eric places his own hand over Dele’s, firm, holding him in place.

“Dele. Wait.” 

Dele pouts. They haven’t even kissed yet. “We haven’t even kissed yet.”

Eric looks over, and squeezes Dele’s hand that is still clamped around Eric’s thigh. He smiles. “We will.”

The rest of the car journey takes forever. Dele fidgets in his seat and tries to pay attention to the streets they drive down and landmarks they pass, but all he can focus on is his hand on Eric’s thigh, Eric’s hand on his, Eric’s promise. _We will, we will, we will._

Finally they reach Eric’s flat, Dele pressing up behind him as he enters the keycode and they stumble into the front hallway. Dele shoves Eric up against the wall.

“I’ve been wanting to do this from the moment I saw you in the lobby.” Eric mutters before he leans up and pushes his mouth against Dele’s.

The kiss is hot and frantic and Dele crowds into Eric, pushing against him, sliding his thigh between Eric’s legs. Eric groans into Dele’s mouth.

“Fuck, Dele,” he says, breathing hard. “Fuck you’re so.” 

Dele smirks. “I’m so what?” Eric ignores the question and kisses him again. Dele kisses back, he feels like he can’t kiss back enough. It’s not enough. He wants more. He needs - 

“Eric,” he whispers, pulling back from the kiss. He reaches a hand down between them, palming Eric through his trousers. 

_”Fuck,”_ Eric groans. “Fuck. _Dele._ Bedroom. Now.” He pushes up off the wall and grabs Dele’s wrist, dragging him down the hallway. Dele follows, laughing. 

~

Dele wakes the next morning with a dull headache and a horrible taste in his mouth. He groans as he tries to sit up in bed - Eric’s bed. He looks over where Eric lays, sprawled on his front, an arm lying heavily across Dele’s torso. 

“Hey,” he croaks hoarsely. His voice is wrecked. He clears his throat. “Eric, hey.” 

Eric shifts and cracks open an eye. 

“Morning,” he mumbles, tightening his grip on Dele. Dele grins, and allows himself to be pulled closer. “Where are you going?” Eric asks groggily. 

“I thought,” Dele starts, and then squirms as Eric pokes his waist. “I thought maybe I should go.”

“You got somewhere to be?” Eric asks. 

Dele stills. He has interviews to prepare for and he needs to do a food shop. He also has vague memories of making plans with Sonny to watch the Manchester derby that afternoon. He looks down at Eric, warm and naked in bed next to him. 

“No,” he tells Eric. “Nowhere to be.”

“Then stay,” Eric mumbles into Dele’s neck. So Dele does. 

~

**_dele!!!!!!!!!! still on for this afternoon or are u otherwise occupied ;)_ **

_lol sonny yeah sorry im gonna have to bail_

**_dele yes!!!!! sexy ceo????_ **

_u know i dont kiss and tell_

**_del!!! that is all u do!!!!_ **

_lmao. Yeah, im at eric’s._

_**ooooh eric!!!!!!** _

_shut up_

_**u spending the day???** _

_he’s making me breakfast now. gonna watch a film later. maybe go for a walk after_

_**lol u going for a walk!!! It must be love!!!** _

_shut up_

_**lol!!!!! Winksy says he is going to buy a hat** _

_wtf shut up_

_**lol!! Love u del!!! Have fun!!!!! xxxxxx** _

~

Dele sits in the foyer of the office block, tapping his leg nervously. He looks over at the clock, and then back at the lanyard he has grasped in his hand. The friendly receptionist who had given it to him when he arrived told him to keep it on him for security reasons. He takes a deep breath, hating how nervous he feels. 

He should’ve prepared more, he thinks. He barely even remembers what this company is, all the jobs he’s applied for over the past few months have blurred into one. He looks at the lanyard again. 

_Spotlas_ reads across the top in a bold, pink font. Spotlas, Dele shakes his head. Spotlas. _Spotlas is a map based recommendation sharing social network_ Dele’s brain reels off automatically. God, he really should have prepared more. Not that he can really feel it in him to regret his weekend and the time he spent with Eric when he should’ve been reading up on this company. 

He smiles as he thinks back to the day with Eric. To the breakfast he’d cooked Dele and brought to him in bed. To how he’d made Dele get up and shower only to immediately make the showering redundant when his eyes darkened as Dele returned with a towel around his waist and he’d dragged Dele back to bed. To how they’d idled the afternoon away watching Die Hard, Dele’s head on Eric’s chest as dusk settled outside. It had been easy to say yes when Eric offered to order take away, and it had been easier to say yes again when Eric had asked if he wanted to spend a second night. They’d parted on Sunday with a lingering kiss at Eric’s front door and a promise to grab a drink one evening this week. 

Dele is pulled from his thoughts when a young woman appears in front of him.

“Bamidele Alli?” She asks, smiling politely and offering her hand. Dele clears his throat and stands, returning the handshake.

“Yes,” he says. “But Dele is fine.”

The woman smiles back. “Of course,” she says. “If you’ll follow me this way Mr Alli. The interview will be on the second floor, followed by a quick written test. Are you okay to use the stairs?”

Dele nods, as he follows the women through a set of double doors and up the stairs. He knows it’s good practise to make small talk in these situations, he knows it would make a good impression, show that he’s friendly and approachable, but he can’t think of anything to say and his nerves get the better of him.

The woman stops outside an office door and turns to him, smiling warmly. 

“Okay here we are Mr Alli. The interview will be conducted by myself, Mr Dier and Mr Lloris. It shouldn’t last longer than half an hour. I’m Zoe by the way.” She smiles again, and Dele feels some of his nerves slip away.

“Would you like any water?” Zoe asks. When Dele shakes his head, she smiles and nods her head. “Okay. Good luck Mr Alli,” she says kindly. “You’ll be fine.” And she opens the door to the interview room.

“Eric, Hugo this is Bamidele Alli,” Zoe introduces Dele who follows in behind her. “But he prefers to be called -”

“Dele?” A familiar, drawling voice cuts her off. The smile on Dele’s face freezes. His eyes widen as Eric looks back at him from across the table. He looks pale and Dele’s shock is mirrored on his face.

 _Ohmyfuckinggod_ Dele’s brain screams at him, and then unhelpfully supplies _that man had his dick in my mouth two nights ago._ It seems like time falls away as Dele and Eric stare at each other, Eric half out his chair, Dele one foot out the room. 

“Yes, that’s right. Dele.” Zoe says happily and then catches the look on Dele’s face. “Is everything okay Mr Alli?” She asks. 

“Uh -” Dele says uselessly. 

Across the table Hugo - _Hugo_ \- Hugo who wears terrible Christmas jumpers and has confusing opinions on Christmas films looks up and frowns. 

“What is happening?” He snaps crossly. “Are we starting or what.” 

“I, um.” Dele swallows and looks at Eric helplessly who stares back, seemingly paralysed. 

“Wait,” Hugo says frowning deeper. “I recognise you.”

“Please, Dele, do you need to sit down?” Zoe asks, reaching out to touch his arm gently. 

“Fuck, no, I need to go,” Dele says, and flees. 

~

“Dele! Dele, wait!” 

Dele ignores Eric’s cries behind him as he pushes his way through the crowds down High Holborn. His cheeks are burning and he feels inexplicably like he might cry. 

“Dele please, slow down.” Eric catches up with him and grabs Dele’s shoulder. Dele shrugs him off and spins around angrily.

“Are you laughing at me?” He demands. “Was that just some big joke?”

“What no!” Eric says, a pained expression on his face. “Of course it wasn’t.”

“Why didn’t you warn me?” Dele asks, ignoring the quizzical looks from the passers by. He shoves his hands in his pockets and glares at Eric.

“How was I to know?” Eric asks incredulously.

“Um, my name?” Dele spits back. “That was on the application form! That you spent the whole weekend whispering in my fucking ear.”

“You never told me your surname!” Eric cries. “And you told me your name was Dele! Not Bamidele.”

“Fuck!” Dele shouts, scaring a flock of pigeons that had gathered round a bin.

“And why the hell did you still come to the interview of the company whose party you had gate crashed?” Eric demands, now suddenly angry.

“How was I supposed to know your company was called Spotlas?” 

“You were at the party! The party where every fucking canape had our logo printed on! I told you about the company I own! We had _speeches_.”

“Look I’m not being funny but that’s not exactly what I was paying attention to at the party!” Dele shouts. And then suddenly it’s all so very very funny. He chokes out a laugh.

“Oh my god,” he says, unable to hold back his laughter. “Oh my god I can’t believe this is happening.” 

Eric starts laughing too, reaching out to grab Dele’s arm. 

“Oh Del,” he says, pulling Dele closer and wheezing into his shoulder. “I’m so sorry. That was awful.”

Dele pulls back, looking at Eric. Eric’s smiling softly, fondly. He strokes a thumb over Dele’s cheek.

“I guess I didn’t get the job then,” he asks quietly. Eric huffs out another laugh.

“You didn’t get the job.”

“But do I still get a date?” Dele asks, pouting. 

“Hmm,” Eric replies in mock consideration. “Submit your application and we’ll see.” 

Dele scowls. “I think I gave a very good practical exam this weekend.”

“You did,” Eric laughs. “Top marks.” He smiles and leans in to kiss Dele. Dele kisses back and supposes, in the end, the interview could have gone worse.

**Author's Note:**

> Massive thank you to my best girls for the brainstorming sessions, plot suggestions, joke ideas, and general cheerleading all round. <3
> 
> The title is from One Direction's Never Enough.


End file.
